


A Sale

by Ryo Hoshi (Hoshi_Ryo)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Carapaces, Gen, Prospit, Slice of Life, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoshi_Ryo/pseuds/Ryo%20Hoshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A (half) day in the life of Ms Paint, a young struggling artist on Prospit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neigedens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neigedens/gifts).



> I looked at the request and ran with "slice of life about PM or Ms. Paint" part. I hope this pleases!

Each day-cycle on Prospit started the same, with the Call to Observance from Reverential Watchmen, reminding those awake to pay respects to the Holy Pillars upon which the rooms of the Sacred Sleepers would be.

Ms Paint was usually still awake for the zero-mark call, her studio in a fortunate location, granting her a view of the window of the Lady’s Room.  She would carefully mark time so she could put her paints to the side and, with the deft flick of the wrist that came from practice, roll out the mat that marked sacred space and perform the proper rituals.  The zero-mark was the least important and most simple, just two bows to the nearest tower, not the elaborate form that met the 180-mark.  (That involved bowing _and_ offering incense to each of the Holy Pillars, unless you were a dedicat to a specific pair of Holy Sleepers like Ms Paint.)

She usually put up her paints for the night afterwards.  While there was, currently, a Sacred Sleeper in residence at the Lady’s Room, she usually was not out at the zero-mark.  Ms Paint did not need to risk sleeping in and missing the 90-mark prayer, not right now.

Her routine in the morning was normal on Prospit—that, she knew.  That it was normal on Derse, as well, was not something she knew.  She bowed, twice, in the direction of each tower, then fixed a simple breakfast of porridge and drank a cup of herb tea.  She had until the 135-mark before the gallery-stall opened.

She wondered, sometimes, how others of the MP line spent their mornings.  Most of them were artists, though every so often she heard of ones who had found other lines of work, such as the Magazine Printer, though that particular one of them had sprouted weird.  She was rather certain that the Military Policewoman was a complete myth.  Surely none would deviate so much from their line?

Ms Paint painted once her simple breakfast was done.  The thought of doing anything else was strange to her.  She was a painter, and she loved to paint, and she had a wonderful atelier.

She made some more progress on the series of devotional paintings she had planned out.  She was not a Meritorious Painter yet, but she hoped this series might win her the luck needed to get noticed.  After all, surely her favored Sacred Sleepers would reward her for her display of faith.

That she had already completed nine, with the tenth already in its early planning stages, with no sign of it working yet failed to discourage her at all.

She was, however, planning to include more frogs in this next one.

Frogs were good, right?  And she did like them, even if she had never seen them outside of art.  Frogs lived on Sacred Land, outside and away from Prospit or Derse, that belonged to the Sleepers.  The burner she had for the offertory incense was in the shape of a frog, and the mat for designating sacred space that she owned had a pattern of frogs she had carefully painted on it.

Ms Paint had a set of sketches, none quite right, done before she left for the market.  It was her turn to watch over the gallery-stall she shared with several other MPs, and if she skipped without a good reason then she would not get any share of the money from sales made that cycle-set except for those of her own works.

Once her paintings sold regularly, and well, she might be able to join those who did not need the extra from the commission fees, but until then…

She set up a pot of tea and poured herself a cup, watching as various citizens of Prospit wandered past, only the occasional one slipping in.  Usually they looked most at the sacred works, the handcrafted mats and other items for home worship being relatively easy to sell.  While even the most simple and plain equipment was perfectly acceptable, most preferred items of beauty, and many chose to mark the directions in their home of the Holy Towers with images of the Sacred Sleepers.

This particular day-cycle, however, was slow.  The main sales were citizens wanting packets of Ms Perfume’s handcrafted incense before the 180-mark, with a small incense burner that Miniature Potter had made being the rest of the sales.  Ms Paint did not really feel bad about this, but that was more than anything else because Miniature Potter was a young girl and needed money and Ms Perfume’s incense was one of their sources of reliable sales.

She unrolled the mat kept in the stall as she heard the 180-mark call, picking one of Miniature Potter’s extremely abstract ‘frog’ incense holders for the day.  Two bows for each tower, finishing with her Lady’s tower, the two sticks of incense slipped into the holder to burn in offering, and…

Somebody had come into the stall.

She moved carefully, concerned.  Was it a Dersite invader?  Hiding from one of the various ARs who enforced justice and peace on Prospit?

She froze when she saw the golden cloth the Silent Stranger wore, instead of the usual fashionable white of Prospitians, the strange wavy black fibers on the Silent Stranger’s head, the skirt…

Ms Paint had heard, of course, that the Sleepers occasionally _did_ drift into the market, slipping in and out of stalls and even more rarely into shops.  It was considered an honor to have one visit, and if a Sleeper picked something out…  There were few who would consider the sales that would follow such a great honor not sufficient repayment for whatever the Sleeper chose.

She watched in awe as the Sleeper _floated_ through the room, pausing occasionally at various items.  One of the bottles of Ms Perfume’s colognes, one of the least successful efforts at making a figure of Miniature Potter’s, one of the mugs that Mug Painter had done something abstract to…

The Sleeper didn’t linger too long over most, and Ms Paint was not exactly sure if the piece of Miniature Potter’s was getting attention mostly because nobody was sure what it was.  It was allegedly a scepter, but…

Miniature Potter meant well, anyway.

The one that caught the Sleeper’s attention the longest, in the end, was one of Ms Paint’s devotional paintings.  She had worked past the 0-mark on its initial sketch, having been lucky and seen the Sleeper floating out of Her Tower.

She had done a good job of it, too, and the Sleeper in the painting was true to the Sleeper floating, staring at it.

Ms Paint felt a mixture of feelings—relief, surprise, fulfillment, pride…something undefinable—as she watched the Sleeper carefully take the painting down, tucking it under Her arm and floating off.

From the door of the stall, Ms Paint watched Her float back into Her Room.


End file.
